Monday Musings: Short and Not Really Sweet

Let me just cut to the chase. I hate everything right now.

For those of you who have only known me for a short time, I’ll point you to this sad post about my ongoing back issues. Suffice it to say my back is way out of whack again—a combination of resuming my regular work schedule since the kids went back to school (which involves sitting in a position that exacerbates the pain) and sleeping in strange beds for back to back conferences.

I’m doing all the things—massage, chiropractor, heat, cold, stretching, yoga, pain medication, head pulling (like I lie on a bed, and my mom tries to yank my head off)—in fact, the routine I’m in right now is ridiculous and consumes my day. 

I was proactive this summer and scheduled an MRI. It took three weeks for them to get me in for the appointment, after which I was to wait until someone called me for a follow up. I waited…and waited…and waited…and waited…(do that for like 28 more days) and finally called to schedule the follow up despite having never been called by the doctor’s office. SPECIAL.

So, I finally got an appointment…FOR OCTOBER 30TH. Yep, that’s the soonest they could get me in with the doctor who ordered the MRI. To be fair, they offered to schedule me with a different provider on the 16th, but this ain’t my first rodeo, and I know that adding another human to this process is not going to help. (Plus, I’ll be out of town that day anyway.)

So. I’m in pain all the time, and I just have to live with it for another month at the very least. And by live with it, I mean devote hours a day to trying to not be in pain.

Let’s talk about something better, yes? Because I don’t actually hate everything right now. In fact, here are a few things I love.

One:

Someone in my friends list posted this, and YES YES YES!
I am still in purge mode and see no real end in sight.

Two: I failed at my mission to finish all the unfinished books I was reading and only have a couple going at once. This is my current stack:

See that one at the top? Mosquitoland by David Arnold. GO OUT RIGHT NOW AND BUY IT AND READ IT IMMEDIATELY. I’m not joking. This is a matter of utmost importance. I’m only 1/3 done with it, but it’s my favorite book I’ve read this year. 

Three: Ben came home from school today and told me that some girls were being mean on the playground to a kindergartener—making fun of her because she doesn’t know all her letters and numbers. He told me he told them to stop because she’s in kindergarten, and she’s not even supposed to know all that stuff yet. I hugged him and told him I was so proud of him for standing up for that little girl. I told him that I know it’s hard sometimes to be the only one to speak up. He said, “I wasn’t the only one. After I said it, Jacob and Catch stood with me and said the same thing.” 

This all comes on the heels of a conversation/confrontation I overheard on field day last week when a boy from Will’s class was calling another kid gay derogatorily. When the kid started yelling, “I’m not gay!” Will immediately stepped in and said, “STOP! He’s not gay, and even if he was, that’s not an insult. You shouldn’t make fun of people who are gay.”

So, basically, I thought I loved my children as much as humanly possible, but I was wrong. Apparently, I am doing something right if they both feel confident in sticking up for the kids who are getting bullied (which makes me feel a little better about shouting at them to bring me stuff like Gilbert Grape’s mom while I’m laid up in bed with a bad back).

Happy Monday, friends!

To Will, on Your 10th Birthday

I wanted to write you a letter because I love through words. In reflecting on your first ten years, I found myself laughing and crying about all that you’ve taught me, and I want to use some of those experiences to give you advice about the next decade of your life.

You see that look on your face? That look says, “Hey, Mom! Did you want me to take a nap? Yeah, I’m probably not going to do that.” As an infant, I could take you anywhere—the grocery store, art museums, restaurants, weddings, funerals—anywhere, and I never worried that you would throw a tantrum or cause a problem. The downside to this was that you were so happy observing your world that YOU NEVER SLEPT. I could have used you as a brownie timer because your naps were 23 minutes exactly. Every time. And at night? I guess you just wanted to hang out with me because I was so cool. Eventually (around 2 1/2), you figured out the sleep thing and never looked back. What hasn’t changed is the way you observe your world. One of the things I love about you most is how you don’t miss a thing—you’re engaged and aware, and you floor me on a regular basis with your commentary on how the world works. Stay engaged. Keep watching carefully and paying attention. Your world is a big, beautiful place, and it’s just going to keep getting bigger and more beautiful. 

You started cruising on furniture when you were eight months old. You would crawl over, pull yourself up, and hold on to the edge of the couch…or the windowsill…or the wall. Whatever you could hold onto. And you did this for SEVEN MONTHS. No matter what we did, you refused to take those first steps away from safety. And then one day, in the middle of a Christmas party, you stood up from my lap and walked across the room like you’d been doing it your whole life. We had no way of knowing, but the way you learned to walk is a lot like the way you do most things—you’re cautious and thoughtful and deliberate. When you make decisions, you’re confident because you’ve given yourself enough time to make sure it’s exactly what you want to do. I love this about you, and I hope it’s the way you continue to be as you get older.

So you know that Dad and I love dressing up for Halloween, and we are committed to dressing up with you as long as you let us. There was a time when we were the ones who picked the costumes, and this was the year we couldn’t help but make you Draco Malfoy. You ran around casting spells and saying “Harry Potter” in a snide British accent because even though you didn’t know about Harry or the wizarding world yet, you knew how to have fun. Since then, you’ve fallen in love with superheroes and cars and video games and book series, and your level of knowledge/obsession/nerdery with these fandoms is proof that you still know how to have fun. I love watching you discover new book characters and movies and TV shows. I love the way you can quote your favorite movies and how you want me to read the books you’re reading. I can promise you this—if you’ve got something you love, some kind of entertainment that brings you immense joy—you will always have me to nerd out with. Always.

I had a little over three years with you before Ben came along. You were infamous in the hospital the day you came to hang out with him as Batman. You loved him immediately and tried to share Skittles with him. You sat for hours on the floor reading board books to him in his bouncy seat or driving Hot Wheels around him while he had tummy time on his blanket. You were a perfect helper, never jealous, and mesmerized by this little built in friend who trailed after you wherever you went. He was equally mesmerized by you—emulating your every move, hanging on your every word, always ready for whatever game or alternate reality you’d created. Not much has changed now that you are older. Do you know the gift you have in Ben as your brother? Do you know how much he loves and looks up to you? As your mom, there are few things that bring me greater joy than the fact that the two of you are best friends. You are a dynamic duo, one that has the power to save the world. I love you individually, but together—you guys are magical.

I didn’t really intend to pick three costume-ish pictures in a row, but it makes sense that that would happen as your preschool years were about three things: imagination, imagination, and imagination. I never knew if I was going to wake up with the Hulk or a train conductor or a dragon. Some weeks, you refused to answer to the name “Will” and preferred to be called “Buzz Lightyear” or “Bruce Banner.” Your ability to stay in character was unrivaled and inspired us to introduce you to theater. I hope you’ll explore the world of acting more as you get older because Will—you are really, really good at it.

This is one of my favorite memories of you from the last ten years. We were living in Charleston, and one night, we had a freakish snowfall. You had been in bed for hours, and I was up reading in the living room. I got up to get more tea and realized there was snow actually accumulating in the yard. Knowing full well that it would be gone quickly in the morning, I woke you up at 11:00 at night, threw on the warmest clothes we had, and took you out in the backyard to make snow angels. We made a snowman and had Tang snow cones and threw snowballs, and you didn’t get back to bed until one in the morning. It was spontaneous and nonsensical. I love how serious you are about life, but I want you to remember that’s it’s okay to do things that don’t make sense sometimes—run outside when it’s raining, eat ice cream for dinner, wake up on Saturday morning and start driving. Some of your best memories will come from the days you don’t plan.

The world will tell you that the way to get ahead, the way to keep up, the way to find success will be to do more more more, to stay busy busy busy, but let me clear about this: busy does not mean happy. Busy does not mean successful. Busy does not mean better. One of the biggest lessons you have taught me is to slow down and relax. You have an innate sense of capacity—those are just big words that mean you know when enough is enough. You crave days at home and quiet reading and alone time. I do, too—it is what you always say: #genesfrommom. In this picture, you’re fishing, something other kids your age then wouldn’t have wanted to do because it’s a lot of sitting around. (This summer, you reminded me it’s called “fishing” not catching for a reason.) You taught me that rest is restoration. And I hope you always strike the right balance when it comes to busyness and rest.

I have had the privilege of homeschooling you for two years of your formal education so far, and it was the greatest lesson in how plan B can be the best plan sometimes. I love watching you learn. I love seeing lightbulbs go off in your head. I love seeing you find creative solutions. I love hearing you ask questions. You aren’t just a student—you’re a lover of learning (I’d say #genesfrommom here again, but I think it’s equal parts #genesfromdad). Whether it’s a new math skill or a new novel, you jump in head first, devouring information like a life source—and let me tell you, it is. Your life will be infinitely more satisfying if you stay open. I’ll be 35 in a couple of weeks, and I’m still learning every single day things I didn’t know before—about myself, about the people I love, and about my world. NEVER. STOP. LEARNING.

When you were in 1st grade, you received a character award at school for being responsible. I know it drives you crazy when we say you are like an eighty year old man, but you need to know we say it because you are wise and responsible beyond your years. We opened a bank account for you when you were seven. SEVEN! Because you understood the value of money and had goals. You take life seriously. Be proud of that. Those of us who have witnessed you growing up are amazed at how steady and dependable and solid you are. We can count on you, which makes you a great brother, a great son, and a great friend.

I took this picture on your ninth birthday when we had hot chocolate at IHOP (your pick on a day I said we would do anything you wanted). After that, you spent a little birthday money at GameStop, we had a meal at Longhorn (where the manager gave you free dessert because she was so impressed you ate an 11 oz. ribeye by yourself), and then we went home to watch movies and play video games together. I love that you are happy with simple things. Hot chocolate at IHOP. A good steak. Family time. Here’s a secret, Will, maybe the only thing you need to know to love your life: you don’t need much more than those things to be happy.

We snapped this shot half an hour before your first piano performance. Remember when you started piano, and you weren’t even sure you wanted to try it? Doesn’t that seem crazy now that you are so good at it? Proof positive of the power of trying something new. Can I tell you something, and you promise not to make fun of me? I cry sometimes when I hear you practicing. Your motivation and dedication makes me so proud. The fact that you take care of things like homework and making snacks when you’re hungry and practicing the piano makes me forget sometimes that you’re a kid. You are just so grown up, and while I miss the yesterday you, I am even more excited to see the tomorrow you. Because, Will, I don’t know how it’s possible, but you just keep getting more and more awesome every day.

Happy double digits birthday, firstborn. If you don’t mind, I’ll steal a quote from you—“when I say I love you, I mean it. Like I really, really mean it, not like something people just say sometimes because it’s something to say, but like real love.”

Forever,

Mom

P. S. I tried to make a four-minute video of your life and realized with a quickness that condensing ten years into four minutes was impossible, so I made this ridiculous 17-minute video. It's all for you. Well, and for the grandmas because they like that sort of thing, too. Enjoy!

Monday Musings: Technology and New Shorts

WHAT I’M ABSORBING

1. At any given time, I have like…twelve books going, which I’ve decided is too many, so I decided to try this thing where I finish all the books I’m currently reading, and I only read one at a time (I’ll keep you updated on how this goes). Except it’s really two at a time because I always have one I’m reading with my eyes and one that I listen to with my ears. I usually finish about three audio books to every one read with my eyes because I listen anytime I am doing anything but sleeping basically. (That, friends, is the answer to the question I get more than any other of “How do you read so many books?”) Does everyone know about Overdrive at the public library? If you have a library card, you can get ebooks and audiobooks for free (because that’s how the library works). This is the reason Scott Johnson has not divorced me on grounds of book-related bankruptcy.

Anyway, a long time ago I read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows and LOVED it. Loved. It’s an epistolary novel (that’s a big word that means written in letter form), and I’ve recommended it hundreds of times. When I saw that Annie Barrows had a new book out, I put it on hold at the library immediately in both ebook and audiobook form. The audio came through first, so I started listening. First, the readers are DELIGHTFUL, and secondly, the book is exactly as good as I thought it would be.

So here’s your homework: get a library card, get on Overdrive, download this book. Or just check out the real version or go to a bookstore and buy it. You’ll love it.

2. You know how people talk about preteens clamming up because they’re too cool to talk to their parents. Well, we’re not quite there yet, but I see it on the horizon, and I refuse to accept this reality without a fight. The thing I’ve figured out is that sometimes you have to enact Operation Sneaky Parenting. WonderBox is how I am sneakily loving my eldest who turns TEN in 13 days and is starting to show the telltale signs of being too cool for me (see: eye rolls, sarcastic comebacks, huffing loudly). I don’t want to talk about it. 

Anyway, about the app—WonderBox is basically a collection of educational activities and videos. Example: Will watches a video from the art category about Leonardo DaVinci and then makes a talking Mona Lisa gif. He can choose to send it to his friends, and it shows up in their feeds. I am one of his friends, so I see it and can comment or click “Yay!” (like liking something on Facebook). It’s basically a way for us to talk without talking. When he woke up this morning, he asked where the iPad was. He wanted to check his Wonderbox (where he found a gif of me with my face painted like Groucho Marx saying Will and Ben are awesome). When I got home from walking the boys to school, I had an email of an environmentally friendly car he’d designed after watching a video about fuel efficiency. OH, DID I MENTION IT’S FREE!?!!! If your kids want to try it out, I can send you our friend codes, and we can share all of this ridiculousness with you, too.

WHAT I’M OBSERVING

1. Mornings in our house are pretty chill. Scott leaves before the rest of us wake up, and Will, Ben, and I have a serious understanding about our need for quiet. We don’t talk unless we have to, and this works for us. There’s a rhythm to what we do. 

My alarm goes off at 6:36, and I go downstairs to start making lunches. (If it’s a day when both boys are buying lunch, it goes off at 6:48.) I shower, and as I’m leaving the bathroom, Will enters. He wakes up at 7:00 on the dot like a robot. While he’s in the shower, I prep breakfast. Ben showers every other day (this is the compromise we came to because he would shower exactly NEVER if he didn’t have a mother). The boys come downstairs to eat breakfast at 7:20, while I go back upstairs to get dressed and/or take care of bills/start laundry/do other fun mom things. I pop back downstairs to brush hair, check backpacks one last time, and put the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. We leave the house at 7:53.

Very rarely does this morning routine differ, which sounds glorious, right? It is. It really is. Unless I throw a wrench in the day like offering Ben new shorts that have never been worn. This results in fifteen minutes of crying while getting dressed because “shorts should never be touching my knees—that’s why they’re called shorts!” followed by a somewhat rushed breakfast, followed by more tears over the fact that I helped him with his shoes because Will is standing at the door, hair combed perfectly and shouting, “IT’S 7:54! WE ARE GOING TO BE LATE!”

So, yeah. That was Wednesday, and somehow we recovered on the walk to school. Ben even held my hand—the same hand of betrayal that tied his shoes.

2. We have a new development this week.

And this is how our dog, Bokonon, feels about it.

Monday Musings: Goodbye, Summer!

I spent the last school year writing/trying to publish books. For anyone keeping track—no, none of them have been published, but I’m still working on that. The result of doing that for about nine months was one completed book, one 1/2 finished book, and one 1/4 finished book—not bad considering I was running a non-profit, substitute teaching, and functioning as COO of Johnson Garden Estate.

One thing I realized along the way was that I reeeeeeeeeally miss blogging. In the beginning, it was necessary to stop blogging to find my book voice(s) and stay focused, but writing books is a solitary pursuit, and I missed the interactive nature of blogging.

So.

I’ve decided to allow myself one blog post a week—consider them my Monday musings if you will. In these posts, I’ll share recommendations for things you can’t miss if you’re attempting to live la vida awesome, tell stories about those two menchildren who sleep down the hall from me, and offer insight gained from my life lived in yoga pants. 

If my mom and dad are the only people who read these, fine. I’ll still have a record of all the things I don’t want to forget that happened during this blessed (please read that as a two syllable word) stage of life. I’m going to keep all of them under 1,000 words because that’s the average person’s threshold (AKA long enough to read while going to the bathroom).

WHAT I’M ABSORBING

My book club chose this, and I thought I was going to have to force myself to finish it because I’m anal and can’t stop reading a book I’ve started, but then I read the first page and was like WHOA. Hey there, sneaky non-fiction—high five to you for completely proving me wrong. I’m about halfway finished, and I can’t believe how much I love this book. (Here are the other books I’ve read in the past few weeks worth recommending: I Am Malala, For the Love, The Girl on the Train, and Go Set A Watchman.) 

My friend, Derrick, sent me a text that said something to the effect of “listen to this, or I won’t be your friend anymore.” So I did, and then I bought the whole album, and you should too. Also, Nathaniel Rateliffe and the Night Sweats release their first album on August 21st, and you should just take care of that right now, too. We saw them in Guthrie on the Gentlemen of the Road tour, and I’m pouting because there are no shows anywhere close to me anytime soon that aren’t sold out. If you can see them live, DO IT, for the love of all things holy.

(Click on the screenshot to link to this awesome course!)

My friend, Missy, put out an all call on Facebook asking if anyone would be interested in taking this course online with her. She lives in Pryor, OK, and I cannot make the weekly commute to her debriefing/gathering, but I jumped on board anyway. We’re not supposed to be doing the course until the beginning of September, but I already finished the first four lessons because BRENE BROWN IS EVERYTHING. (If you haven’t read her books, do yourself a favor and forget that everything else in life is happening and move them to the top of your list. Your boss and family will understand your absence when they see how you have become such a better person after reading these books.)

I found these popsicles at Costco (only the strawberry and mango), and I’m certifiably obsessed. Run, don’t walk. You’re welcome.

WHAT I’M OBSERVING

We took a vacation to Branson with my parents last week as a last hurrah before school started. One of the days was spent out on a pontoon on Table Rock Lake, fishing, tubing, and swimming. As happens on those sorts of outings, Will realized he needed to go to the bathroom. We told him it was time he learned how to eliminate waste like a hillbilly (pooing in the lake for those of you fancy people who aren’t smelling what I’m stepping in) to which he replied, “I’m sorry, Mom. I think I’m a land pooper.” Somehow my hillbilly roots have failed him. He did, however, pick up spitting sunflower seeds during the vacation, so we still have hope. (I included the above video because my mom took it thinking it would be embarrassing, but I have this new thing where I basically have no shame and don't care about stupid stuff like looking cool. It's working out really well, and I'm getting LOTS of practice.)

We worked on tying shoes all year last year with Ben. I mean, that’s kind of what kindergarten is for—learning how to read short vowel words and tying shoes. Right? Well, it was the only thing on his end of year report that got the dreaded needs improvement. My friend, Ashlie, posted a video on Facebook, and I decided I could still get a passing grade as kindergarten parent if we learned before first grade actually started. I sat down with my favorite little prince of do it myself, and WE DID IT! WE CAN TIE SHOES! The experience was made that much sweeter by the fact that Ben yelled “Yesssssssssssssssss” as he ran through the house in his tied shoes, whistling through the gap in his newly formed first grade teeth.

When Will’s friend, Jack, was over for a sleepover, I was informed that Jack was Abby’s boyfriend for like five minutes last year because as Jack explained, “I was held at mental gunpoint until I said I would be her boyfriend.” As Jack’s mom and I talked, I overheard Will say to Jack, “Yeah, I don’t think I’m a chick magnet like you because they all know I have a soulmate.” Oh, did I tell you that Will has decided "girlfriend" is too light a description of Becca (his girlfriend since 4K who lives in WA)? Later, he said, “I don’t know if soulmate is the right word either.” We consulted the thesaurus, and now Becca is his spirit kin. I die.

I could barely keep up with Ben as we walked home from school today—talking a mile a minute about how first grade is WAY, WAY better than kindergarten. I mean, they have real desks, and the gym/lunchroom is soOOOoooOooOOOoo close, and they get to rip pages out of their math books. What more could you want? 

Thanks for reading, friends. See you next week!

This Is What Ten Years Looks Like

I have been married for ten years.  Did you get that?  Let me repeat.  I HAVE BEEN MARRIED FOR TEN YEARS.  You know how people talk about dog years?  Well, I like to say we count by Air Force years—that’s when every calendar year counts as ten years, so because of that, I want to say, happy 100th anniversary, Scott Johnson!  On this day, in 2003, you made me a kept woman, and I want to celebrate by taking a walk through the eleven Decembers we’ve been married.  And we’ll start here…

2003

I woke up the morning of my wedding completely at peace.  Honestly.  I’d written love letters to my husband since long before I knew he was going to be my husband, so when I chose him as the one, I was positively sure I was doing the right thing.  I didn’t have jitters or second thoughts, and the only reason I had cold feet was because it was freezing outside.  As the day progressed, rain turned to sleet turned to twelve inches of snow on top of frozen ice, and yet, somehow, we were able to fill a sanctuary with almost four hundred people.  I walked down the aisle to The Beatles’ “Blackbird” played by a string quartet, and when I got to the end, I let go of my dad’s arm and took Scott Johnson’s hand.  It took close to twenty minutes to drive two blocks to our reception, where we danced our first dance to “Fly Me to the Moon,” sung by an ancient man in a forest green crushed velvet tuxedo jacket.  Scott danced with my Grandma Hazel—the first dance in her Pentecostal life—and I threw my bouquet completely over the heads of all the single ladies waiting.  Magical.  The whole thing was just magical.

2004

We were weeks away from finding out where we would be stationed for our first assignment out of pilot training.  Knowing we would be moving to one of the coasts and therefore less likely be “home” for Christmas in the coming years, we made the rounds for all the Christmases—visiting all the grandparents and great-grandparents in OK and MO.  It would be our second and last Christmas as a family of two, as in this picture, Will had been cooking for about two weeks.

2005

I’m cheating with this picture.  It’s not December—it’s the end of November, just after Thanksgiving.  We don’t have any family pictures in December because Scott had started his stop and go schedule, which involved very short stops at home before he would go again for weeks at a time.  If I look tired, it’s because I was.  Will was not a fan of sleeping, and without someone else to take shifts most nights, I was…well, I was the mom of a three-month-old.  It was the first of a handful of holiday seasons that Scott celebrated over the phone (and later over Skype or FaceTime).

2006

Scott left for his first official deployment in the fall of 2006, so it was just me and the Will-man in December.  While the deployment was difficult, I’d found my rhythm as a part-time single mom, and we were lucky to be part of a flying squadron, which deployed as a whole, so I was never without the support of friends, whose husbands were also deployed.  I saved all our emails, and most of my deployment emails involved stories about Will not taking naps and updates about who got kicked off of Big Brother.  Scott said things like “i miss you crazy insano madness (that’s a lot).”

2007

Remember when Ugly Sweater parties were actually a thing?  Some of our best friends, the Wetzels, hosted this one, and we took on the eat, drink, and be merry challenge with gusto.  Scott fell asleep on the couch, and we wrote on his face with markers.  We slept on a futon in the loft and ate leftover chicken wings for breakfast.  So, basically, it was JUST like college, except we had kids who woke up needing to be fed and diapered.  I think we were all just giddy to have husbands around long enough to have a party.  At the end of this December, I told Scott it was now or never if we were going to add to the family, and his answer was resoundingly NOW.

2008

Ben was born three days before Thanksgiving, making him the youngest baby in the church when the Christmas Eve service rolled around.  This picture—THIS PICTURE—is all of the feelings.  There we are, all four of us, feeling like everything was perfect and right in the world.  We’d been tasked to be Mary and Joseph for obvious reasons, and Will suggested a re-write, so instead of riding a donkey, this Mary and Joseph had a pet sheep (a sheep who would strip his wool halfway through the service and run out to his Mimi who was sitting in the pews).  Fun fact: unbeknownst to me, I had MRSA coursing through my body, a little gift from Ben’s delivery, and two days later, I’d land in the emergency room to be lanced and drained.  HOWEVER, in this moment, I’m sitting next to my favorite wild sheep and staring at the child born unto us, and I couldn’t be any more in love with the look on Joseph’s face.

2009

In all of our pictures of December, there isn’t one with all of us, but this picture is perfect. Scott was around a *little* more this year, and we had a good thing going.  This was the year of toddler trenches—when some days, I just had to go upstairs and shut the door for fifteen minutes of silence, as soon as Scott walked in the door.  And when I was finished with my sanity breaks, I’d come downstairs, and the three of them would be stacking blocks or reading books or watching football, and I saw my future unfolding.  Scott was a good husband and a good daddy to these tiny people and a good man, and I felt like the queen of the castle.  A somewhat sleep-deprived queen of a relatively disorganized castle, but I wouldn’t have ruled any other way.

2010

Home for Christmas four years in a row!  How did we pull that off?  Oh, yeah, I remember now—Scott was preparing to leave for weapons school—a six-month program which involved a lot of anxiety for both of us.  I remember feeling disconnected for the first time in our marriage, like he was moving into territory without me for some reason.  I’d been doing so much “on my own” (I know this concept is preposterous given my wide circle of support, but it felt that way much of the time) for so many years, and something had shifted.  It was a fun holiday season, spent in OK with friends and family, but when we pulled back into Charleston, I had a six-month single-parenting stint on my horizon, during which I would have to pack our house for a yet-to-be-determined cross-country move, all while raising two children (and a dog who insisted on peeing at the top of the stairs every day).  I was right to be anxious, and so was he.

2011

What a weird year.  After Scott was gone for a very stressful, strained six months, we moved from SC to WA, and three months later, he deployed (again!) for the last three months of the year.  We’d run the gamut of emotions in those twelve months, asked a lot of hard questions, and gave a lot of ugly answers, and in the end, I think we were both feeling apprehensive about the future to say the least.  We were diligently communicating throughout the deployment, both desperate to continue with the momentum we’d gained before he left.  My friend, Renee, said of her husband (also a pilot) once, “When I give my husband the chance to be my hero, he does it.  Every time.”  That had been stuck in my gut this whole year, as we worked through a really trying time in our marriage.  I had to come to a place where I trusted Scott to be my hero again instead of approaching him from a place of bitterness and resentment and anger.  And that’s when he did this.  Unbeknownst to me, Scott organized a surprise “anniversary dinner” with all of my closest friends from OK.  What I thought was going to be a night out with one friend was actually THIS.  Not pictured: my dad and the boys who stopped by to say hi and I love you, Scott’s best friend, Jefferson, who read a letter on behalf of Scott and delivered flowers, and my mom and mother-in-law, two marble pillars, who held up the roof of our house for us during this year.

2012

What a difference a year makes.  And a change of scenery to beautiful WA.  And a time when Scott was “home” with just a few short trips for almost six months in a row.  We hit our stride again with an astoundingly quick recovery—it’s amazing how things come together when you’re actually together.  In Olympia, we found great children’s theater and Thai food and farm stands and chickens—we got chickens!—and a house in the hills where you can see the Olympics on sunny days.  We found a church and preschool all in one and hiking trails and a boy scout troop and horseback riding lessons and and a gymnastics gym and highways that will take us north to Canada or south to Voodoo Donuts in Portland.  And we were happy—really happy.  It was a year of reevaluating EVERYTHING.  And on Christmas morning, we woke up TOGETHER, looking a little less Hallmark and a lot more Cousin Eddie, and it was perfect.

2013

And we’ve made it to this December—our last December in WA, as we know we’ll be moving this summer.  Right now, the house is a mess of winter coats and decorations and stacks of dishes and school supplies, and tomorrow marks ten years of marriage.

Scott Johnson,

Before bed tonight, you told me you loved me and you were sorry that you fell asleep before I got home from running errands.  It’s okay—because when you’re sleeping, and I’m up being a night owl, sometimes I sit on the couch, listening to you puff in the other room and writing love letters for you to read in the morning.  I sit on the couch in my ugly pajamas, reminiscing on the life we’ve made together, a gurgling mess while I think about those two babies in the back of the house who are blessed to call you Daddy.  

So, on our anniversary—you’re going to go to work, and I’m going to buy groceries and run Ben to preschool and homeschool Will, and then we’re going to meet up at Ben’s Christmas program (6:30—don’t be late!), and we’ll have cookies and juice in the church atrium, where I’ll watch you help our boys and have polite conversation with the teachers and the other parents in that easy way that you do.  And then we will grab buy-one-get-one burritos at Chipotle on the way home, tuck our babes into bed, and grub down while we catch up on The Daily Show.  I will probably eat some chocolate or maybe a spoonful of peanut butter for dessert, and you can have an extra Cherry Coke if you want.  We can play Skip-bo when we’re done eating.  After all, we’re celebrating!  

And it will be the most perfect and romantic 100th anniversary we’ve ever had.  Here’s to 1000 more years.  The other night, I was reading our bedtime book with the boys, and I came across this passage that tells how I feel about the future:

“Nicholas, we have what we need.  Brave hearts.  And sharp minds,” Ombric reminded him.  “And as you might recall, we always abandon our plans and end up doing things we never imagined.”

That’s it.  I can’t imagine what’s in store.

xo

Leia

The Meaning of Life...or Whatever

On Tuesday, after I dropped Ben off for his first day of school, I had a clearly defined plan for how I was going to spend my two and a half hours--the first two and a half hours that were officially mineallmine with both of my children occupied with schooling.

For whatever reason, burritos are the one thing my children veto every time I suggest them, and they are otherwise spectacular eaters, so I acquiesce.  So, first order of business was to eat my modified burrito (chicken bowl with a tortilla on the side) in the sunshine on the sidewalk in front of the mall Chipotle.

Several days earlier, my friend, Jody, had posted a quotation on Facebook that read “We were made to be the things that he is: forgivers, redeemers, second-chance givers, truth-tellers, hope-bringers. And we were certainly, absolutely made to be creators.” (s. niequist)”

After a quick google, I discovered Shauna Niequist and her book Bittersweet.  After reading a couple of the excerpts from her website, I immediately placed her two books on reserve at the library.  

I had waited to start the book because my evenings had been consumed with filling out beginning of the school year paperwork and watching reality TV (hey, my brain was fried). So, part two of my big I-have-time-to-do-whatever-I-want plan was to leisurely read my new book while enjoying my meal.

Really great plan, right?  Yeah, until I started reading and realized that literally every page was going to make me cry.  I did not apologize to the two gentlemen sitting at the table next to me, who were probably utterly grossed out by the tears and snot dripping down my face.  Okay, it wasn’t that bad, but almost--I kept getting that choking feeling in the back of my throat, and I tucked a napkin on the inside of my glasses to line the rim of my bottom eyelids in an effort to catch the tears before they fell in my bowl.  

There was a time in my life when I laughed at Scott people who cry in movies.  I have been told there is a block of ice where my heart should be.  By multiple people.  But there is something about becoming a mother that opened the flood gates for me, and now these public crying fits seem to be standard operating procedure, which my friend, Erica, has assured me is completely normal.  And I believe her because she wouldn’t lie to me.

So, as I placed check marks in the margins of the book over and over again, I broke one of the rules I made for my alone-but-not-lonely time--I got on my phone to order the books to own (because I didn't want to get arrested by the library police for writing in their book).  I decided when we signed Ben up for this two-days-a-week class, I would have three rules because I am terrible without rules.  Aside from having a high need to have a plan, I need boundaries--like an electric fence with a shock collar to keep me from deviating from the set plan.  So, I made these three rules:

1. No internet.  Especially no Facebook.  I was not going to watch my time disappear while I browsed other people’s baby pictures and “Liked” Ryan Gosling memes.  No.  I have plenty of time to do that at night when I am catching up on SYTYCD and folding laundry.
2. No cleaning/organizing.  My kids are at an age, where I can very easily be productive (moms of wee ones--the day will come, I promise!).  So, the laundry and the vacuuming and the cleaning pee off the toilets--all of that can wait until a time when they are jumping on the trampoline or playing Legos in their rooms.  I will not be productive during my five-whole-hours-a-week.
3. Some writing every day.  And this--THIS is the big one.

I am a writer.  (See how nice that looks in print, right there for all the world to see?)  But for the last seven thirty-two years, I have done very little in the way of writing with a purpose.  Several months ago, I attended the Storyline conference with Donald Miller, and above anything else he said, the thing that stuck with me most was this: if you want to be a blogger, write blogs.  If you want to write books, write books.  (That’s the Leia paraphrase, of course, but I think he would be happy with my version.)

In that moment, my body reacted in the way my mind couldn’t--I got sweaty pits and goosebumps all at the same time.  Because here’s the deal--I want to write books.  I write blog posts because I need an outlet for all the things that spin through my head on a day-to-day basis.  Consequently, the immediate gratification of getting a message from someone that says anything from “That was great!” to “I so needed to hear this today!” is what makes me feel connected to the rest of humanity on those days when I feel like an island (in a bad way).

I don’t begrudge my children or the time I’ve spent being thebestmomintheworld so far.  In fact, I believe being a mom is the greatest gift God has ever given me and the greatest gift I have to give the world.  Mothering--nurturing, caring, training, loving--is the most natural thing I have ever done.  But I really, really believe that the second greatest gift God gave me was my ability to write, and it’s a gift that has been sitting dusty on a shelf for far too long.

I finally feel like I have reached a season when I can focus on writing without feeling like I am shorting my kids or husband in an unfair way.  Because that’s what this season is about for me: 1. Working on my marriage, 2. Raising human beings, and 3. Pursuing writing as a viable career.

I wish you could feel the pit in my stomach right now--the one that is pummeling my gut and screaming, “WHAT IF YOU FAIL?”  Well, then I fail, I guess, but this is the moment in my life when I am saying, I am going to try anyway.

Shauna Niequist outlines beautifully the struggles that ensue when you are trying to write a book in her chapter titled “Knees or Buns.”  She talks about how when she is eating at a restaurant with her three-year-old, she gives him the choice--knees or buns.  Anyone who has ever dined with children will get this reference right away--I, in fact, have said a variation of this thousands of times, something like, “You can’t stand in your chair.  Pick one--on your knees or on your bottom.”

She goes on to compare writing to the situation with her son.  She writes, 

“What I learn, over and over, is that writing isn’t hard, but sitting down in the chair is really, really hard.  So at this point, I’m working at a three-year-old level: knees or buns?  I can sit anywhere I like, but I have to sit down, and then the hardest part is over...Creativity isn’t easy, and it isn’t something you turn on like a light switch.  My inbox will tell you that the world is full of writers who don’t write, painters who don’t paint, dancers who don’t dance.  They want me to tell them something, ostensibly a secret something that will get them up and moving again, creating again.  My reply is always a disappointing one: I don’t know what to tell you.  Sit down, knees or buns.  But then, I tell them something else: do it for the feeling you’ll have when you are done.  Making art doesn’t have the instant payoff that most things in our modern lives do, but like all things that really matter, the big payoff is invisible and comes much later.”

So, here I am.  On my second day without children.  On my buns.  Because she’s right--writing isn’t hard, not when you know with every fiber of your being that this is what you MUST do.  And whatever the payoff is, I am going to just live with this right now--the idea that I have five hours every week when I am going to do EXACTLY what I was made to do.  That, in itself, is payoff enough.  For now.